Waiting For Rescue
by flah7
Summary: McKay and Beckett are trapped off world and waiting for rescue.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Waiting for Rescue SGA

**Author:** Heatherf

**Disclaimers:** Don't own them, no money made etc.

**Warnings:** Grammar, spelling, total disregard for proper punctuation. Imagine that

**Thanks:** NT and Meg T. they are much smarter than me, and have infinite patience.

**Summary:** Beckett and McKay are off world waiting for a rescue, hence the title. Pretty sneaky isn't it?

Written: 5/06

* * *

**Part 1**

The first thing he noticed was the mound of fine particulate matter that piled and collected just within his view. He couldn't see beyond it or directly around it.

He blinked a few times. The pile didn't move and he didn't feel inclined to, either.

Then, the heap of fine matter seemed to expand. He rolled his eye upward. Grey flakes, hundreds, perhaps thousands or maybe millions silently floated down around him.

Everything was deathly still.

Except the flakes. Grey flakes. They trickled downward, not making a sound.

Everything within his view seemed muted behind the thin veil of fine grey. A particularly large flake landed with a delicate puff just within his fine focal point. It blended seamlessly with the powdery grey that covered everything within his limited sight.

There was no noise. No voices or footsteps, no laughter or conversation. Nothing. Not a sound penetrated the falling grey particles.

He wondered if he had gone deaf. More dust rained from above, silently covering everything---even the still fingers of his curled hand.

It was his hand, he'd recognize it anywhere, even masked behind the thin shroud of dust, it was his hand.

He blinked.

Perhaps his left---or maybe his right. With undue concentration, he focused on unfurling his index finger. A gash with protruding edges curled outward along the lateral edge of his first and second phalange. His finger moved slightly with the creaky stiff feel of an old door with misaligned hinges. The dried skin edges cracked and pulled. Serum ran in a zigzag fashion from the wound, effortlessly diverted by the accumulating grime.

It should have hurt. It looked uncomfortable if not a little painful.

Another overtly fat flake drifted pass, easily capturing his attention. He watched it absently, his hand forgotten. The grey dust drifted all around him, wavering gently, floating lazily left and right, methodically falling in its own unhurried manner toward the ground. Perhaps a floor?

He blinked.

Was it snowing?

The flakes were off. They were more grey than white, more particulate matter than actual snow. He wasn't cold, but then nor was he hot, or warm for that matter. _Perhaps comfortable?_ But something deep inside indicated that his situation was anything but comfortable.

He blinked.

His eyelids peeled apart and he discovered some grey flakes had fallen onto his eyelashes. He could see them but not focus on them. They didn't melt.

It was then he realized he lay with his head against something cool and solid. A side of his face buried in the accumulating soot.

More grey flakes whispered their way down. As far as his eye could see they were everywhere, falling ghost like; slowly burying him.

He didn't want to be buried yet.

Carson stared at the flakes. They landed on his face, his hand, his lips. He darted his tongue out and tasted a few.

Not cold, not wet, not refreshing. Not snow.

Instead, it made paste. Dry, tasteless paste. _Perhaps a hint of smoke? A hint of construction? _

He must have shifted.

Something moved beneath him and it sparked searing bolts of pain in both his hip and head. A sharp intake of breath marked his movement and articulated the piercing flash of discomfort. He squeezed his eyes shut and dragged in hissing shallow breaths of air.

"Carson?"

Beckett opened his eyes. His breath sounded harsh to his ears even over his roaring pulse.

Dust continued to fall. Unending. More landed on his face. More covered his eyelashes seemingly weighing them down. There was pressure at the small of his back. He moved a leg and again distinct spears of pain shot from his hip spidering up through his lower back and around lashing deep into his abdomen.

He gasped squeezing his eyes closed. His head hammered in echo.

How could pain in his hip be connected to his head? He let his eyes flitter closed. Perhaps his cousin was right: his head was up his posterior at times. Unlikely though---cousin Brendon never had a positive thing to say about anything, except fishing, and even then fish he'd say were stupid. Not that Carson ever felt inclined to argue the point.

The flakes were becoming bothersome. Weighty on his eyelashes. An ear itched.

"Carson?"

Beckett settled cautiously, relaxing muscles that seemed too fatigued to be tense. He closed his eyes. His back burned with the movement and his hip sent tendrils of cautionary pain up and down his side.

The ground was lumpy. Or was it a floor? Why would he be lying on a floor with lumps? He opened his eyes again. The grey flakes were still descending, taking their time, no hurry really.

Through the curtain of grey above him he saw light blue. Perhaps sky? A few broken beams stretched high above him. Some dangled like broken bones, swinging quietly back and forth from partially snapped joints. Gusts of grey spilled from them with each pendulous swing.

Not all above him was blue. There were areas of intense darkness. He squinted his eye. His head thrummed with pain but his hip remained quiet. Perhaps his head was not squarely up his butt as his older cousin once told him. He stared at the area of black which slowly took on dimension and fleshed itself out through the sea of drifting matter. More criss-crossing beams, joists and joints. A ceiling. Parts of an intact ceiling.

Directly over him was blue—sky. He let his eyes travel slowly left then right examining the jaggered boundaries between roof and sky. A sawtooth hole encompassed most of the ceiling or lack there of.

There was a hole in the roof; a very big, rough, giant sized perforation. Perforations were never good. Not in the body, not automobiles and certainly not in ceilings.

Beckett smiled. One, possibly two mysteries were solved. There was an unsightly hole in the ceiling far above him and perforations were usually pathologic.

"Carson?" A disembodied voice sounded irritated. A familiar exasperation. "Carson, can you hear me?" A touch of concern mingled with the impatience.

"Rodn'y?" Beckett furrowed his brow. A concerned Rodney was never a good sign. It normally led to pathologic and occasionally catastrophic conditions on and to Atlantis and her occupants.

He missed Atlantis. It was time to go back.

"Thank God," McKay muttered. "You going to stay awake this time?"

"Where 'r ya man?" Beckett asked slightly confused. Speaking to the ethereal voice of a friend seemed a bit odd. _A haunting? Surely not. Of course, Rodney could do just about anything he set his mind to. A frustrating man, that one. _

"Under you," Rodney's ire was muffled.

"Well, that can't be too comfortable, lad," Beckett pointed out tiredly somewhat puzzled.

There was a slight pause as if McKay was gathering his patience and collecting his breath. "No, Carson, its not." There was another slight pause, more puffs of air, "Get off of me!"

"Oh, right, good man," Carson paused as his gaze was once again captured by the blue showing through the ceiling. "There's a hole in the roof, Rodney," he pointed out without moving. "Why's there a hole in the roof? It's never a good thing to have holes in the roof."

"Its not important right now, Carson. I think my leg 's broken and something's wrong with my shoulder. You laying on me isn't helping." The anger and frustration quickly faded and replaced by a plaintive, "now please move."

"My head hurts. So 's my hip," Beckett informed his unseen friend. "There're big flakes falling on us."

"Carson, just move," McKay pleaded with a hint of a whine and desperate impatience.

After a few false starts and numerous groans and moans from both quarters, Beckett slowly rolled to his left after a false start to his right. It had been then that he learned his right hip had issues. He also learned that Rodney's pelvis was just to his right, at elbow level.

The subdued quiet of their little area was broken with the initial and unfortunate misplacement of Carson's elbow in Rodney's groin.

Beckett clumsily rolled free, stopping once he settled onto his stomach, his face half buried in the pulverized remains of a grand building. He stared at the powdery grey flakes that covered the floor near his head.

He took a breath and, with fractured focus, watched them move about. The unsettled dust rolled forward and backward with each exhale and inhale he took.

Rodney shifted about just to his left, gasping and hissing.

Beckett couldn't bring himself to follow the ranting and movements of his fellow off world teammate. Rodney was a busy man most times. Always moving, never still. If it wasn't his mouth that was speaking, trying to do the impossible of keeping up with his brain, then it was his hands that were waving and flapping about like a seizuring bird. And he was paced, back and forth, back and forth, like a gerbil on wheel. _Perhaps it was the gene therapy._ Maybe the urge to move in repeated staccato systematic manner really was a side affect. _Perhaps Rodney was part rodent---in a good way. _Beckett smiled. Perhaps Rodney was now related to Lady Abigail white mouse number 5. Maybe Rodney would have a cheese fetish like Lady Abigail and horde it in his cheeks for later. Silly mouse. Silly man.

_They were off world, weren't they? Not the mouse. He didn't bring his mice off world. They were delicate creatures, hardy but strangely fragile. His mice were quick though, they could wiggle from your hands and scamper down the front of your shirt in seconds. It was always a good idea to wear a belt. Loose waists could lead to uncomfortable situations for everyone; including the mouse. Many lab technicians and researchers alike had done the "the willies" mouse dance when rodents inadvertently escaped down their clothing. His mice stayed nice and safe back on Atlantis. They needn't travel through the Stargate. _

Carson shut his eyes. He should be so lucky.

He didn't like going off world. He didn't enjoy the molecule mixer, aka Stargate. It made a slurry of all his molecules and instantaneously put him back together again at the end of the ride, supposedly with his molecules in their proper place. It just seemed there were too many little teeny weeny, wee pieces that needed to be put back together again just right. It stood to reason a few minuscule molecules could be lost in the wormhole or put in the wrong place. And when more than one person went through the wormhole at once, who's to say molecules didn't get mixed up and put in the wrong person? What if all the SGA teams had their genes intermingled and put together like cards from different decks shuffled together?

Maybe he would radio-isotope someone and send them through with a non-labeled someone and see what happened. Maybe Rodney and Lady Abrigail.

He chuckled. Grey particles swirled into the air.

And even the name 'wormhole' struck him as an odd choice of names. He had seen depictions of what people thought the wormhole looked like and Carson couldn't really help but think it looked a little like a flushed colon. To think someone named it a wormhole and would then flush his molecules through it struck him as something a kin to a 'crap chute.'

He groaned. It hurt his chest, his hip too. He was really beginning to not like his hip, whichever one it was. His head really wasn't much better.

He closed his eyes.

* * *

"Carson." Rodney received no response.

"Damn it, Carson." Rodney gingerly reached out with a grey, shaky hand and nudged Beckett's shoulder. Pain erupted from his own shoulder and radiated down to his chest and paralyzed him. McKay froze as dust and fine particulate matter cascaded from both of them.

With shallow gasping breaths, McKay slowly fought back his focus. _Shoulder too. Something was wrong with the shoulder to match his leg. Not good. Not good at all._

He watched with some despair as Carson stared at the floor with an unfocused expression. Beckett would not be any help to himself or Rodney any time soon.

Blood covered the Scot's ear and neck. Drifting flakes darkened as they mingled and partially dissolved with thick tenacious blood that congealed at the temple region of Beckett's head.

"Oh, this is so not good," McKay muttered quietly.

With shaky bruised fingers, he carefully lifted matted wet hair behind Carson's ear. He squinted his eyes and tried to see through the pasting dust to get a look at the hidden wound that was sure to be there. Beckett's hair was stiff and clumped with falling insulation, dust and blood. This couldn't be good. McKay's fingertips ghosted over the edges of a jagged cut that seemed to have its edges everted. He could feel the underlying meat and adipose under the outwardly curled edges of thickened skin. Not good at all.

"Damn it, Carson," McKay muttered, "You're supposed to escape these kind of scrapes unscathed and leave the bleeding to the Marines." Rodney left the wound alone, dropping the stiffened and jellied hair back into place. Maybe it would act to protect the wound somewhat.

McKay carefully peeled Beckett's earpiece free leaving a small clean spot, which was quickly filled in with trickling blood and falling dust. A gruesome pate of hybrid mud quickly formed over the CMO's left temple and ear.

McKay dropped his hand back to the floor and delicately settled onto his back. His lower body shifted. His leg moved, bones ground against one another and muscles contracted tightly, pulling an audible hiss and truncated cry from his lips. He clenched the bloody earpiece tightly in his fist and squeezed his eyes closed.

Falling flakes landed on his bared teeth. They soaked up what little moisture he had and clung tenaciously to the enamel.

Rodney lay on his back amongst the ruins of the one time two-story stone building that was now reduced to a smudged hodgepodge of collapsed floors. He and Carson had been investigating this building together with the Chancellor. Apparently the Chancellor and others in the vicinity were now smeared and flattened elsewhere under tons of debris.

It was amazing how quickly promising moments and events in the Pegasus Galaxy got flushed straight down the sewer pipe to Hell.

Simply amazing, and Sheppard wasn't even with them to blame.

Rodney sighed despondently. It triggered a sharp spike of pain through his shoulder and chest. He squeezed his eyes shut and panted for breath. It hurt, everything hurt, but this particular sharp, incredibly focused pain hurt more than any thousands of pains he thought he had suffered in his life.

After a moment it slowly ebbed. Rodney cautiously opened his eyes. _Still not back on Atlantis._

He stared up at the gaping hole in the ceiling that had just moments ago captivated Carson's attention.

At least they no longer heard the whine Wraith darts overhead. It seemed like ages since the first Wraith dart crossed the sky. The screams of the running, panicking populace still echoed in his mind.

God, where was Sheppard, Teyla and Ronon when you needed them?

Why did they have to be back on Atlantis?

Fate hated him. That had to be it.

McKay lay quietly, squinting against the falling dust and fine debris, wondering what had happened to the SGA team that had 'borrowed' himself and coerced Beckett off world with them for this simple meet and greet and the obligatory check for unexplained energy readings.

SGA-9 and its leader Lieutenant Phillips had lots of hope for this mission. Phillips was new, cocky, self-assured, and seemed to think his team carried the luck of the Irish. Phillips with his light hair, blue eyes and pale freckled skin looked something akin to the Lucky Charms type Irish as opposed to the dark.

McKay had half expected the Lieutenant to jump up and click his heels as he stepped through the gate.

Rodney could understand why Phillips insisted that McKay accompany his team off world. Who wouldn't want McKay on their team? He was, after all, the foremost expert on Ancient Technology and a genius by the standards of two galaxies. He was just incredibly useful to have around. Somewhat equivalent to a human Swiss Army knife. An all purpose 'McGyver' type guy. Hell, sometimes McKay even surprised himself, which he often found hard to believe. But then again, he was a virtual bottomless well of intelligence and resourcefulness.

It didn't take any deep introspection or speculation to realize that Phillips and half the team leaders begged Sheppard to borrow McKay.

That made perfect sense.

Why Carson was here, Rodney couldn't be sure. Of course, he didn't pay much attention to Beckett's duties off world unless they pertained directly to himself. Then, well, then McKay paid close attention. However, Carson's duties usually employed more wishy washy, sensitive mumbo jumbo that seemed to waste more energy than Rodney was willing to expend, especially on a population that may not prove to be all that helpful. Plus, Carson occasionally had to deal with gruesome open sores, productive coughing or other expulsive discharges from orifices better left unimagined. McKay wanted no part of that.

Why Beckett was coerced to go off world this time, Rodney could not really be sure. It was probably for some sort of mushy pseudo-science reason like a medical crisis. McKay freely admitted Carson was good with medicine, better than any Doctor he had met in either galaxy, not that McKay would ever admit it publicly. However, medicine was more sleight of hand and mirrors than true science. It had its uses. It had its place. It just belonged on a different tier than real science. Hard physics. Hard sciences were truer sciences. More pure. Better.

McKay fingered broken radio he had peeled away from Beckett's ear. He could feel the drying blood flake away while still congealing parts smudged and smeared under his fingertips. The tiny radio was broken. His fingers, uncalloused and highly tuned to the feel and texture of Ancient technology, especially communication devices while off world, easily discerned the running fracture that creased the body of the mechanism. The radio would not be working anytime in the near future, not without some repair.

Like himself and Carson.

Rodney's leg pounded with each beat of his heart. He refused to look at his leg. It was broken--- he knew just from the intensity of the pain. He also knew it wasn't bleeding. If it was twisted and mis-angled Rodney didn't believe he needed to bear witness to it. It would remain mis-angled and misaligned until Carson could fix it. Rodney turned his gaze to Beckett.

If Carson could fix it.

McKay stared critically at the Scotsman. Blood trickled and wound a meandering, uninterrupted path across Beckett's temple, over his cheek and down toward his chin. Fat dark droplets rolled from his chin, hung for a moment before snapping free and falling to the gathering dust just below the line of his jaw. A small congealing pool of blood admixed with dust slowly began to jelly and clot. Drifting ash particles landed in it floated for a bit and then seemed to dissolve and disappear, thickening the pool and changing its color.

Rodney watched the streaming blood for a while, knowing head wounds bled a lot. The sight of blood no longer put him on the sharp edge of panic like it used to. Well, unless it was his own blood…and well then, blind panic was expected. His blood after all was unduly precious. He, himself, was a prized commodity. No boast needed. It was fact.

There was nothing he could do for Carson at the moment. The CMO needed help and Rodney didn't have access to that kind of aid. Their packs lay outside the room. They had deposited them just in the hallway at their host's wishes.

Rodney tried to crane his head and get a glimpse of the hallway. His shoulder stopped any type of foolish movement which was spawned by curiosity. The hall outside this particular room no longer existed. Not much of the building remained intact. Except maybe the small piece of room he and Carson had managed to fall into and a chunk of ceiling.

It had been such a normal day. Well, normal for the Pegasus Galaxy and her occupants. But still normal, nonetheless. The sky had been blue, the sun out, big white clouds dotted the sky in a refreshingly non-threatening manner. Thick pine tree forests surrounded the small city. Hills rolled stretching out away from the city and eventually grew and morphed into sharp, rugged mountain peaks. Lush tall grass fields dotted the area. Small homes with startlingly familiar fences stood nestled a comfortable distance from the hard packed dirt roads that lead into the budding city.

The forest and mountains had reminded Rodney so much of back home. So much of his beloved Canada. Funny, how moving away from home, facing constant danger and a questionable future made one realize just how much home was missed. He was born and raised Canadian but never gave much thought to his roots until moving to the Pegasus Galaxy and suddenly Canada became very important to him. It was home. Earth was his planet, but Canada; Canada was his. His turf, his country, his place. No one bad mouthed Canada in his presence. Great things came from Canada---maple sugar, pine, ice hockey and Rodney McKay.

Rodney stared up at the blue sky, ignoring the broken beams and the dangling shingles and insulation. He ignored the debris and destruction and stared at the gentle firmament with its soft white clouds and wondered how could a day remain so beautifully clear and warm and promising, with birds chirping, when all around him was physical destruction and death?

The creaking of wood shifting in the light breeze seemed distortedly tranquil. The flap of partially trapped paper rattled somewhere out of sight. A stiff breeze kicked up every once in a while, moving about bigger dust particles, causing the overhanging beam to swing a little more.

Not a voice was heard, no sounds of human movement, no footsteps, no frantic calls for survivors. No cries, no anxious sounds of searching.

Nothing.

The Wraith had hit P39-604 with a vengeance. Nothing moved. Nothing probably survived.

Rodney and Carson were alone. They had survived. Dumb luck. At the moment, Rodney would take any form of luck, dumb or otherwise.

McKay stared at the blue sky through the massive rent in the roof and watched clouds drift by. He, they, were stuck until Carson decided to come back around.

Rodney rolled his head and stared at the Scot. Carson lay slack jaw, breathing evenly, with blood rolling down the side of his face and dripping into the building dust.

They weren't going anywhere. Rodney couldn't move his shoulder--- perhaps it was his collar bone that had snapped. His lower leg was no longer in one solid piece. Shins shouldn't slide about like his did. No, they were stuck. He was stuck. For now.

Rodney stared back up at the hole in the roof and waited. The colonel would come searching. He, Teyla and Ronon would be here soon.


	2. Chapter 2

_Well, I'm done watching the corn grow today. Here is part 2. The last part (3) should be here tomorrow...and then the epilogue after some time later. Its written, but watching the corn is taking all my time. _

**Part 2**

The blue sky eventually faded to light grey. Shadows stretched, the breeze picked up and dust and debris fell a little quicker and a little more solid.

Not a soul shouted for survivors. Time crawled pass. The breeze whispered into a wind and cool temperatures dipped to cold.

Carson flittered and flirted with the waking world. He stared at McKay on occasion, spoke nonsense, jabbered without coherency and drifted off more times than not mid-sentence.

McKay had tried to assess Beckett's level of orientation and consciousness and finally concluded he had neither the patience nor inclination to pursue such things. There was nothing he could do for Carson at the moment if things should go bad for Beckett.

The grey of sunset quickly bled away to the darkness of true night.

In the blackest part of the night, when temperatures dropped and the breeze sliced through his skin like a flaying knife, McKay intermittently found Beckett staring at him. It was then Rodney would try to engage Carson in conversation, ask questions, make erroneous statements and seek agreement on things that should have sent the Scotsman into a tizzy.

Each time Beckett would merely close his eyes and drift away, unconcerned, uncaring, or most likely unaware of the dropping temperature, the lingering intense fear of Wraith, and burden of knowing they had been abandoned.

McKay lay awake, alert, listening and staring up through the hole in the ceiling. He stared at the sky, watched as stars slowly became visible. He tried making shapes, drawing lines and creating constellations. There was no Big Dipper to be seen, no formidable and fearless Orion or majestic Leo. None of them were to be found. Nothing familiar.

He missed Canada. He missed his sky, his stars. He missed maple sugar, his coffee and his favorite sandwiches from the corner gas station just down the street from his old apartment.

The cold leached into his bones.

Pain, it seemed, was inversely related to temperature.

McKay gently rubbed at the lateral aspect of his thigh trying to sooth the horrific ache that ate its way up from his broken leg. He cringed with only the barest hint of vocal discomfort as large muscle bodies cramped and contracted.

With each movement his shoulder was jarred. Pain waved through him in endless waves.

He was trapped in a collapsed building, in a broken body with no hope of relief in sight.

Frustration built, knotting his abdominal muscles, clenching his jaw, bulging masseter muscles and inadvertently flexing leg muscles. Broken bones shifted. Splintered ends of bones that were not meant to be splintered crossed paths with electrifying intensity and pain so pure that it brought tears to his eyes.

McKay ground his teeth and hissed in his breath as he clutched cautiously at his thigh. It shifted his shoulder. A desperate gurgle bubbled forth. His hand froze near his injured thigh, praying his leg would not flair with pain.

Quadriceps flexed and knotted, his knee bent and his calf muscles bound and balled like the punishing fists of a fanatic. Rodney rolled to his left uncaring of his injured shoulder until he jostled it. Still, he rolled and curled into himself dragging his broken leg closer to his chest, dragging his limp ankle and foot through the fine soot of debris and destruction.

He lay panting, eyes squeezed shut with such intensity that little sparks of light flittered and flashed behind closed lids. His stomach rolled and bile rose.

At that moment, he hated the Pegasus Galaxy.

After a time, the excruciating pain that came in building waves receded and let go of its grip, ebbing away slightly, granting its victim a chance to catch his breath.

Rodney sighed and opened his eyes, unaware of the pink tinged saliva that dripped from the corner of his mouth.

No sounds of footsteps. No calls of rescuers. No search parties dotted the night.

The wind scoured the land. The sounds of ruined construction collapsing outside, sometimes far away, sometimes ominously close, sent his pulse racing and fear spiking. He found himself holding his breath and waiting---hoping for a rescue and fearing discovery by lingering marauding Wraith.

Those times he envied Carson's oblivious state. The CMO had to be in a bad way. Perhaps he wouldn't survive the night? Or worse, survive but no longer be Carson. The Carson he knew and, God forbid, respected. It would be like death, but worse.

McKay lay slightly on his side, curled clutching his useless leg with his one useful hand. As the pain systematically built and crashed through him, he shut his eyes, ground his teeth and breathed harshly through clenched teeth. When the pain receded, granted him a reprieve, he would open his eyes and stare through the thick shadows at Beckett's still silhouette.

Maybe they would die out here alone, away from home, with no friends or family about. Rodney would gladly concede that he didn't need his family, but Carson did. The man was worse than a big floppy eared dog with a nose to head home. Rodney didn't pretend to understand it.

However, right now, in the dead of night, he would gladly give anything to have the colonel nearby and Teyla and even Ronon. Any of his team. What he wouldn't give at the moment to have one of them here with them. Or to be back in Canada.

Buildings didn't tend to fall on him in Canada. Nor did people shoot at him on a regular basis or stun him or shower him with poisoned darts, or try to suck the life from him. Canada was a virtual paradise.

But his team wasn't there and this wasn't Canada. Wishes didn't make anything happen and they were about as useful as organized religion. Wishes were crutches and prayers were private wishes. Rodney didn't need a crutch when he had his mind.

By the light of the moon, Rodney found himself occasionally staring into the dazed and lost expression of Beckett.

"Go to sleep, Carson," McKay whispered. There was no reason for the two of them to suffer the cold, the nauseating pain, the loneliness and the stunning homesickness that struck without warning in the dead of night on a world so far from their home that the number of zeros involved were too many to write long hand.

A slight smile curved the corner of McKay's mouth when Beckett's eyes would flutter close on demand.

There was no reason for them both to suffer. Not here, not like this. Not alone.

As the temperature dropped and the minutes stretched to hours, it seemed as if their chances for survival slipped away.

Each fierce spike of pain that lashed his leg and roared through his shoulder seemed to sap a little more hope from him.

Where was Sheppard? Where was his team? They should have been here by now searching for survivors if they thought they were any.

SGA-1 would never leave one of their team behind. None of the off world teams would do that. Not Lorne, not Galvin, not Shaunessy, not McDermit, not O'Leary, or Timolty or any of the others. They came back through the gate with everyone. Maybe not everyone upright; maybe not without sparking a few curses from their CMO when he met them in the gate room, or a few silently shed tears if Biro was called in to sharpen her knives behind closed doors. They might not all survive but they all came back through the gate one way or another.

The stargate was a wondrous beguiling piece of technology. It was almost art, but incredibly more useful.

McKay smiled as he pictured the fluid surface, the crystals, the incredible simplicity of its working and the beautifully complicated math that made it work with unnerving flawless accuracy. Unless Kavanagh touched it.

McKay's smile dipped into a frown. _What if Kavanagh worked on the Stargate at home? No doubt Zelenka could probably fix it, but time was of the essence. _

The punishing silence of night stretched on as temperatures dropped. Time slipped past with all the urgency and speed of chilled molasses from a spilled glass.

Rodney carefully rolled slightly onto his shoulder and reached out a shaking hand and felt for a pulse on Carson's neck. It took a few tries and just as panic was setting in, the soft steady drum of a solid pulse rolled like tiny ocean swells under his dirty fingertips.

Yeah, Carson was still with him. Carson wouldn't leave him. Scared as he was of his own shadow or so it seemed at times, Beckett would stand by Rodney. They had been friends for a long while. Long enough to learn that both would stay together, right or wrong, they stood together, perhaps with ire in their voices, and promise for payback ringing in their ears. McKay knew Beckett would be at his shoulder. Just as Rodney hoped he would stay by Carson.

Through thick and thin.

Well, maybe not too thick or too thin. But pretty much through most things, they would stand together. Having Carson drifting in and out like he was, made it easier to believe Beckett would stick close…and of course, having his own leg snapped and shoulder wrecked, pretty much assured McKay that he wouldn't leave Carson either.

They might not be military, but they sure as heck understood what it meant when it was dictated that No Man Gets Left Behind. No man means no one. Not just the military types---but the geeks too.

Rodney pulled his hand back from Carson's jugular pulse. He shifted delicately onto his back and hissed in agony as something in his shoulder grated where it had never crunched before. Not good. Rodney slowly forced himself to once again focus on the stars.

Phillips ran off with his team. Hightailed it into the mountains, probably to save himself. Maybe he was back on Atlantis getting his ass chewed by Sheppard. Maybe Ronon was breaking Phillip's leg or Teyla was using his head for a hitting post.

It wasn't right to leave the geeks behind in a collapsed building, alone, hurt and without any type of gear.

Though they not having gear wasn't anyone's fault except the Chancellor of P39-604. What type of moron asks people to leave their packs outside in a hallway?

McKay sighed carefully. Worse yet, what type of colossal moron listens to such requests? Rodney rolled his eyes toward Beckett. Carson continued to lie face down in the dust oblivious to the burden of blame just shifted to his shoulders.

Rodney returned his focus toward the black night sky.

The stars were no longer visible. The wind had stopped. The wood beam no longer squeaked.

McKay stared at the night sky, curious as to the sudden depth of darkness and lack of stars. He furrowed his brow.

The first raindrop hit him square on the forehead. It made a small wet splash and then rolled toward the medial canthus of his eye forcing him to blink. It itched.

The delicate soft patter of a light rain filled the area.

"This is so unfair." His quiet declaration held the solid conviction of one who had met unfair and unjust many times before and lost.

Life was frequently unfair. That was certainly true. But why wasn't it ever unfair in his favor? Just once?

The soft patter turned into a shower and then a punishing deluge.

It was deafening.

The pelting rain hurt.

Through the torrent McKay wiggled, whimpered in misery and slid himself closer to Beckett. His tiny rasps and cries of pain drifted off into the night unheard. He gingerly shucked free of his coat, grinding his teeth at the self induced torture and slid the jacket carefully out from under his injured shoulder. He awkwardly spread it over both their upper bodies. The process left him bathed in sweat and fighting the intense and sudden urge to vomit. Beckett owed him big time.

The jacket fell miserably short as a blanket or rain protection but it was something.

McKay lay still under his tiny corner of canvas coat. He kept his eyes closed and for the first time in a long time almost believed in a God.

Something had to be responsible for his current state of complete and utter misery. Something other than himself.

And this wasn't his fault. Not at all. He didn't bring the Wraith to this planet. He didn't collapse a building onto Carson and his heads. He didn't run into the mountains and hide. He didn't do any of this.

None of this was his fault. Why was he being punished?

McKay paused. Why would he think he deserved punishment?

Of course he didn't. He was McKay. He didn't deserve anything of the kind. Accolades, now those he deserved and ten fold. He was, after all, a genius.

Carson didn't deserve it either. In fact, he probably deserved it even less than Rodney.

Poor Beckett was rapidly paving the way to Hell right through the middle of the Pegasus Galaxy with all his good intentions.

The driving rain was short, intense and thorough.

It tapered back to a shower, then to a patter, a sprinkle and then disappeared all together. The breeze kicked up.

Rodney carefully rolled the soaked jacket back off their heads. The stars shone through the hole in the roof and McKay once again found himself staring at constellations he didn't recognize, on a world he really shouldn't be on, all alone…well except for Carson.

Beckett, who was succeeding in doing a brilliant impersonation of broccoli.

McKay rolled his head and found Carson staring at him again. The rain had managed to streak Beckett's face even more, mingling old blood with soot and insulation, making the man appear more battered than before.

"Go to back to sleep, Carson," Rodney ordered.

"No."

"Fine." McKay responded in his typical façade of uncaring. He swung his gaze back toward the stars and waited. After just a few moments he turned his attention back to Carson.

Beckett's eyes were closed.

McKay carefully reached out a shaky hand once again felt for a pulse. He found it quicker. The pulse bounded just as effortlessly as before.

A brisk wind cut through the ruined building. It cut its way over and around and through McKay's wet clothing, slicing its way into him like the fine edge of a stiff paper. And it hurt. Worse. Much worse.

Muscles tightened and contracted on reflex to generate heat.

He shivered. His broken leg shifted, his shoulder slipped. Pain flashed upon him with bloodcurdling intensity.

A soft cry of pain and a desperate lunging curl to wrap a clenched ash streaked hand around his mangled leg marked his agony. His other hand lay limp folded on the floor against his midsection.

No one witnessed it. No sympathy showered down upon him. No comforting hands tried to soothe the hurt, no soft voices.

Nothing.

The wood beam creaked, the unseen paper rattled, and debris swirled about twirling in and out of shadows of deep night.

A bitter cold embraced him.

Rodney held his leg cursing the day he was born, vilifying the Wraith and promising revenge on Phillips and his team.

Nausea waved and receded with the flooding pain that burst up through his leg to his hip and lower back. McKay remained curled, as still as his breathing would allow, gripping his leg tightly, desperately hoping that this wave of agony would disperse and ebb and leave him be for the time.

No such luck.

He struggled to level his breathing as he lay on his side with his back bowed, head buried and chin sunk to his chest. Saliva pooled beneath his jaw and teeth ground against one another wearing enamel and fillings.

How long he remained like that, Rodney was not sure. Perhaps, he mulled, he had passed out or simply fell asleep. Not that it mattered. There was no one to bear witness.

Rodney opened his eyes and discovered himself still curled, the thigh of his broken leg was still grasped weakly in his grey rain spotted hand. The hand of his injured shoulder had lost feeling and remained folded and thickened near his midsection.

He lay quietly for a moment blinking, staring at the grey material of his off world clothing. The folds and creases of his dark grey pants were mottled with lighter dusting of powder and debris. The rain had darkened his clothing in spots, soaking him through.

He shivered and it hurt. Everywhere. Not just his leg or arm. Muscles cramped and stiffened complained and burned with each movement.

He wished he would stop shivering.

It was then he noticed it was light.

Not the light of a true sunrise but the expanding light of a false dawn. That time of day was his favorite. The world slept then, everyone was quiet, everyone that is, except the mad fanatics that chased their dreams and crazy goals. While the normal world slept through the breaking of a false dawn, the driven, the ambitious, those on edge too harried to sleep were moving about. Atlantis was full of those people. Some would not have seen their pillows yet, while others would have left the comfort of their quarters well before the light of a new day. Atlantis was home, perhaps even a haven for those from Earth that found the mark of a too early morning or too late a night---to be just right.

McKay slowly uncurled groaning as his lower back protested.

He rubbed at his face, felt the itchy growth of a fledgling beard and wondered how Carson put up with it. Of course, it wasn't that Beckett thought he looked dashing or sexy with his five o'clock shadow. More often than not, Carson simply forgot to shave. It still rattled Rodney, knowing that the man who put lives back together, pulled people from the brink of death, would forget what his razor sitting on the edge of his sink might mean, if in fact he even saw the razor.

Too damn focused most times.

Rodney understood what that was like. Yeah, he understood that all too well. Not being able to find his socks some mornings drove him to distraction until he put his shoes on only to realize he was already wearing his socks.

McKay shook his head.

"Interesting conversat'n Rodn'y?" The humor in the question was not masked by the slight slurring of words or unusually heavy accent.

"Oh, so you've decided to join us?" McKay asked carefully straightening his head and meeting Beckett's stare.

"Us?" Carson asked slightly perplexed and not just a little bit hopeful.

Rodney sighed, "No us, just you and me." He rubbed at his leg again, feeling the muscles starting to knot on their own and hoping to prevent it. "You really in there?"

"Aye, Rodney," Beckett whispered. He dragged a heavy hand up to the side of his head.

"You might not want to…." McKay let his statement fade as he watched Beckett finger the gash on the side of his head.

Carson flinched and grimaced when his stiff fingers found the wound and then inadvertently caught an edge and shifted it. The stiff skin and dried meat cracked and bent, hypersensitive nerve endings fired and sparked an intense focused headache. He shut his eyes and let the building saliva string from his mouth to pool. He couldn't trust himself to swallow.

"Carson?" Rodney asked worried at the sudden pallor that bleached Beckett's face.

"Fine," Beckett breathed.

"Right," Rodney responded not masking his total and utter lack of disbelief.

"You?"

"Broke my leg."

"Bad?"

"Is it ever good?"

"Aye, ya 'ave a point with that." Carson slowly opened his eyes and took in his immediate surroundings. "What happened?"

"Wraith."

"Bothersome buggers aren't they?"

"Took you all this time to figure that out?"

"Snappy," Carson noted closing his eyes again. He contemplated rolling over but gave up the idea as soon as he shifted his hip. He drooled some more.

"You okay?"

"Been better."

"You look like shit," McKay honestly pointed out.

"Why thankyou, Rodney," Carson slowly opened his eyes and stared at McKay, "but I'm thinkin' I look a sight better than you."

"You'd be wrong," McKay stated unequivocally.

"Not likely," Carson retaliated.

"Your head wound is making you delirious."

"Aye, probably." Carson relaxed his shoulders and back, losing the tension that had gripped him since waking. He settled heavily onto the floor. "Are there others?"

"We're it," Rodney stated with a touch of bitter anger.

Beckett furrowed his brow. "What happened?"

Rodney rolled his eyes and stared at Carson for a moment gauging whether or not to answer the repeated question. "The Wraith."

"Oh," Carson muttered, "nasty buggers."

Rodney sighed. "Go to sleep, Carson."

Beckett dutifully closed his eyes but then peeled them open. "Are you hurt, Rodney?"

McKay continued to stare out the hole in the ceiling, watching the stars fade away with increasing rapidity as sunlight crested an unseen horizon. "No, Carson, now go to sleep, you're distracting me." Rodney waited a moment longer before rolling his eyes toward Beckett. The doctor slept slack jawed, dried blood and insulation caking his face.

McKay turned his attention back to the sky, ignoring the torn and shattered ceiling, staring at the grey sky that slowly lightened taking its own sweet time.

Somewhere outside a morning bird chirped. A moment or two passed and a few more chirped. And soon the early grey of morning was filled with the sound of birds.

Why couldn't the Wraith eat birds?

The smell of pine floated in on the crisp morning air. Dew puddled and pooled, shimmering and rippling in the gentle breeze.

Canada, where he grew up, had pines, lots of pines. Lots of birds too. Canada had scores of things the Pegasus Galaxy didn't have. It was leaps and bounds better than the Pegasus Galaxy.

McKay continued to rub his quads, increasing his tempo as the tightening of muscles continued to knot and threaten a spasm despite his best efforts to stave it off.

His muscles cramped. His toes were pulled outward pointing toward the rest of the room while broken bone edges were thrust against one another before slipping along side their partner.

He cried out, burying his chin his chest, hiding his face in his arm. He curled tighter into himself, dragging his injured arm through the damp dust. He lay panting, fighting for control and hating his leg, hating the Pegasus Galaxy and its life sucking villains, but more importantly, hating Phillips and his team for abandoning him and Beckett.

* * *

"Hey Doc, you in there?" Sheppard's jovial voice filtered into McKay's dark world. Who was Sheppard talking to? 

_Canada didn't have Sheppard. Or good but irritating friends like him. Canada didn't have teammates like the ones you found in the Pegasus Galaxy. _

"Come on, Doc," Sheppard's voice took a hint of demand. "Hey, that's it. There you go. Come on, look at me….No. No." There was a hint of panic.

Rodney furrowed his brow slightly. Why would Sheppard be panicking? He wasn't left alone on a planet.

"Doc? Beckett, come on, look at me. You see me? Hello in there."

There was a thick mumble and then Sheppard chuckled, "No Doc. No class today. A briefing, maybe, when we get you fixed up. Okay?" There was another incoherent mumble.

Rodney tried to concentrate. He tried to follow the voices.

"I believe Dr. McKay is coming around as well," Teyla's voice startled him with its proximity.

"That's good." Sheppard's voice again. "Ronon, tell Major Lorne to swing the jumper over to our position and have him radio Elizabeth. We need a med team standing by."

"Dr. McKay, Rodney," Teyla's voice again, "please open your eyes for me."

Rodney really didn't want to open his eyes. His leg and shoulder hurt, he was cold and nothing good came from opening your eyes when you were on a planet in which buildings fell on you.

"Doctor McKay?" Teyla's worried expression was blurred. But Rodney could make out just enough to note the unique tilt of her head she used and the dip of her eyebrows when something concerned her---like an injured friend.

"They left us," McKay whispered wanting it to be very clear that what befell him and Carson was not their fault.

Teyla shot a worried glance to Sheppard. The colonel merely shook his head. _Now was not the time. _

"Carson?" McKay asked. He tried to drag a heavy hand up to his forehead but found it too much effort.

"He will be fine," Teyla smiled but the concern did not leave her eyes.

"A roof fell on his head." Rodney paused trying to remember another piece of information. "His hip too. He said his hip hurt. Part of the ceiling must have hit his side."

"And your leg and shoulder as well," Teyla pointed out quietly. "But you are safe now. We are here and will get you home."

Rodney furrowed his brow in confusion. The urge to return to Atlantis overrode any previous desire to go back to Canada.

McKay's attention was drawn back to the duo beside him when he heard Sheppard's hissed intake of breath. "That's gonna hurt."

Rodney swiveled his head just in time to see Sheppard carefully lower Beckett's shirt, partially hiding the deep discoloration that monopolized the Scot's side.

McKay grimaced.

"Does your leg or shoulder pain you?"

Teyla's question caught him off guard and seemed irritatingly foolish. A ceiling had collapsed on him. Of course he hurt. It was almost as if asking: _Do birds fly?_

"Rodney, be nice." Sheppard's soft rebuke would have startled McKay had he the energy. He hadn't known he had spoken out loud and that disturbed him.

"Not penguins." Beckett's raspy voice tiredly answered, startling the people around him, "Emu's either or ostriches---some fish fly---not sure it's true, none of those buggers flew into my nets."

McKay tossed the physician an exhausted irritated look.

"Doc? You in there?" McKay heard Sheppard ask Beckett.

"Nay," Beckett mumbled and his dust covered form seemed to settle heavily, as if melting even further into the floor as his eyes fluttered closed.

"No, Doc, come'n now. Stay awake." Sheppard's soft pleading went relatively unheeded.

Teyla turned her attention back to Rodney, "Dr. McKay?"

McKay merely dipped his chin a fraction.

"The morphine should make you feel better." It was strange how reassuring Teyla's voice seemed. How strong and secure and safe, as if everything was going to be okay, even though Rodney himself did not hold the ever important reins in his rescue.

McKay hadn't seen the ampule or the needle or even feel it enter his bicep, however, within a few moments, he felt the warm flush of its effects.

The Pegasus Galaxy was leaps and bounds better than the Milky Way.

A smile ghosted over his features. The grey morning sky had given way to a bright blue with lazy white clouds hanging overhead. He took a steadying breath, felt air rush into his lungs, could picture the molecules rolling through his airways and hitching a ride with his red blood cells. His smile broadened, his focus waned and his chest settled heavily with the exhale.

"Colonel, I think Dr. McKay is ready to transport." McKay heard Teyla's voice, saw her face but somehow missed her movements. He felt himself get lifted and then shifted but didn't recognize the feel of the many pair of hands or understand the thrum of voices that surrounded him. Faces blurred and darted in and out just on the periphery of his vision. His spot under the hole in the roof suddenly disappeared.

A face blocked his view.

Ronon.

Then McKay felt himself moving, floating. He recognized the intact section of roof and then a chipped and broken doorway and soon he was outside under the blue sky, without jagged broken beams to mar his view.

Again, he found Ronon's face suddenly in his view and Rodney frowned.

"It is good you are alive, McKay," Ronon stated in his no nonsense manner.

"Yes, yes," McKay muttered. He waved his hand impatiently at his side, motioning the runner to move away. Ronon disappeared and the blue sky was back for just a moment. Then it disappeared replaced by the ceiling of the puddle jumper.

_Canada didn't have Athosian's who could hand out Whup Ass like no one else. It certainly didn't have gnarled haired Satedans that could snap you in two while eating with one hand. And Canada didn't have puddle jumpers. He didn't need a license to fly---just a gene. _

His quiet float trip came to an abrupt end. The settling of the stretcher jarred him.

McKay groaned.

It seemed no time passed and then Sheppard was staring at him. "You did good, McKay, real good."

Rodney stared at the Colonel in confusion not understanding what he did good at and why. He simply closed his eyes but then opened them, "Carson?"

"He's right beside you. You did good keeping together, Rodney, and looking out for the Doc." McKay nodded, not truly understanding what was being said. Instead, he let his eyes close and listened to the hum of human life around him.

Someone was still asking the 'Doc' to stay with them. To keep his eyes open. Talk to them.

McKay smiled slightly to himself. Carson was there with him. Geeks and scientific types understood the importance of not leaving anyone behind.

A fact made simple because most geeks were left behind from the time they went to school and learned they were nerds. Nerds and Geeks, Geeks and Nerds, there was a difference, but not in the eyes of the intellectually average. Nerds and geeks were left behind until needed.

Being useful kept you 'in the loop,' kept you in the crowd. It also kept the Geek needy. It gave a fleeting taste of what it was like to be 'in' and accepted ---only to be left behind later. The taste was often initially so sweet and addicting but turned rapidly sour.

Leave no man behind meant something to the military, but was also understood by those who were constantly left alone to fend for themselves whenever a challenge arose in school halls, classrooms, playgrounds, or locker rooms. A geek had no friends or back up when the going got tough.

The adage of leaving no one behind was something the Pegasus Galaxy had over the Milky Way. Even Geeks and Nerds were protected in fact, they were especially protected when potentially violent challenges arose in the Pegasus Galaxy.

Except for the other day. Phillips had left them.

Rodney listened to the voices around him.

Someone still tried to pull Carson into the waking coherent world. Beckett apparently was having no part of it.

Someone was talking about the loss of another good team. Someone else cursed the Wraith.

Morphine kept Rodney from putting it all together.


	3. Chapter 3

**_Okay here is part 3. Having major DSL and electrical issues tonight (well last night no electricity therfor no fan some out there realize the pain that caused. The epilogue will have to wait until tomorrow. Hopefully, I'll get the light pole box/extension cords figured._**

**_Thanks tons for the reviews. You guys are great. _**

**Part 3**

Sheppard stood at the foot of McKay's infirmary bed and wondered if they should really just make a nameplate and plaster it to the foot of the bed. It was McKay's Lucky Bed…lucky in that he survived his multiple, tumultuous visits to the infirmary. Not that he got 'Lucky' as in 'LUCKY'. Sheppard cringed. The thought frightened him. Perhaps they would think of a better term. No sense in inflating the man's already self fed, healthy, above average ego.

It was the dead of night on Atlantis. It amazed Sheppard how many people worked at night within the deep shadows of solitude. It seemed scientists and geeks kept their own clocks.

The Colonel watched McKay sleep. The scientist closed his mouth and swallowed. He was slowly working himself from the deep depths of anesthetic. They were treating his broken bones, assorted bruises and shock. McKay was responding remarkably well. Then again, Rodney never did things by halves.

The broken leg was in a soft cast with ice packs packed in towels surrounding it. The swelling needed to recede some before they could properly immobilize it. His shoulder was another story. The broken collar bone, though grotesque in its misaligned confirmation, was easily fixed and not so easily wrapped. The bandage looked bulky, restrictive and woefully uncomfortable.

When the pain meds no longer flowed through McKay's IV, the complaints and insults would fly. Morrison was in for a verbal rodeo.

There'd be no running interference from Beckett either. Not any time soon at least, well at least not before Rodney's mouth kicked in full force.

Sheppard cast a concerned eye toward Carson. The CMO lay at a slight incline. A large square bandage was taped in place over the overtly large shaved spot just above his ear. The blood and debris had been scrubbed away, but in its place was the orange/yellow stain of surgical soaps. A neat but gruesome arc of staples lay hidden under the gauze. The skin had been puffy, red and glistening with serum. The bandage was changed frequently and the sutured area scrubbed more times that Sheppard cared to bare witness too. Beckett's left index finger, supported by a splint, was hidden under a mound of gauze that encompassed his palm and wrist. A good scouring and a few stitches set the torn digit right.

All the imaging of Carson skull and brain had been clean. The Ancient devices had indicated no lasting damage had befallen him and yet everyone seemed to hold their breath. Beckett had yet to fully waken and engage the world around him. Instead, he stared with unconcerned confusion and simply closed his eyes as if the puzzle of the outside world was just not worth his time and effort at the moment.

Occasionally, his eyes would flutter open, he'd stare at the faces around him, not respond to the questions asked of him and slide further down the slight incline of his bed and curl back to sleep without a word.

He picked the IV out of the back of his hand at least once. It made a mess and had Morrison barking orders at the nurses and cursing his unawares boss.

Had it been McKay, Sheppard would have written it off as pure unadulterated McKay behavior.

Beckett however, the Colonel wasn't too sure. The lack of response was worrisome.

"Don't you work?" The gravely challenge brought a smirk to Sheppard's face as he swung his attention back to McKay.

"Well seeing as I saved your ass once again, I figured I'd take the evening off."

"No one saved my ass, except maybe Carson falling on me," McKay clarified quietly. "and that type of rescue I can do without. He weighs a ton." Rodney swallowed, trying to work moisture back into his mouth without much success.

"We're having a special on ice chips." Sheppard raised an expectant eyebrow.

McKay merely nodded. "Carson?"

Sheppard reached for the small off-pink plastic cup and the spoon that rested within it. "Right beside you. Still sleeping, driving Biro and Morrison crazy."

"Short trip," McKay opinioned. He stared over at Beckett's bed ignoring the Colonel who dipped a plastic spoon in the ice cup.

"Maybe so, but they think he'll be okay by the end of tomorrow." With minimal attention to his movements, Sheppard simply slid the spoon and ice chip between Rodney's chapped lips.

McKay fought to keep his eyes open as the ice readily melted on his dry tongue. The water was absorbed before it ever had a chance to dribble past his molars.

"Phillips left us," McKay stated.

"Yup, he did." Sheppard answered without undo concern. It riled McKay.

"He took off and left Carson and me," Rodney tried again. He cursed the drugs that sapped him of his anger.

"He saved your asses, McKay."

"What? By running into the hills and leaving us to the Wraith?" McKay's mocking acceptance of the explanation held the bite of fury.

Sheppard sighed. He leaned against the makeshift rails that had been placed on some of the infirmary beds to keep patients from sliding to the floor. A few unfortunate accidents, most involving Rodney, and Beckett had engineering working overtime getting things 'fixed'.

The Colonel stared pointedly at McKay.

"Phillips and his team lead the largest contingent of Wraith into the woods in a running fire fight." Sheppard paused, unsure how much to burden Rodney with, wondering if the full truth would be worth the weight of added blame and responsibility upon the burdened shoulders of his friend and Chief of Science. Would it be worth the abated anger directed at Phillips and his team?

"He took off without so much as trying to contact Carson or me."

Sheppard gripped the rail and stared at Rodney as if gauging the weight of responsibility he had toward the living and the dead.

"The Wraith came to that planet searching for the human who masterminded the weapon that killed them when they attempted to feed." Sheppard paused. "Apparently it has become known to the Wraith that one of us, meaning our expedition, was the one behind the Hoffan drug."

McKay's eyes quickly swiveled from Sheppard to the still figure sleeping in the bed behind the Colonel.

"They were after Carson?"

"The Wraith didn't and still don't know who they're after, but they know it's one of us." Sheppard gauged McKay's reaction and level of awareness and continued, "Lieutenant Phillips knew this after a Wraith questioned one of his team before feeding on him." The Colonel peered around his arm to glance at Beckett and turned back to McKay. "Phillips apparently got their attention and led them on a chase through the foothills---they never made it back to the gate."

McKay seemed to shrink into his pillow. "How'd…"

"They holed up, made a last stand, left a message in his boot."

"They're hunting for Carson?"

"No, McKay," Sheppard stressed, catching the astrophysicists eye, "they don't know who they are after. For all we know it could have been Perna they were hunting."

"But you just said they knew it was one of us from Earth."

"McKay, let it go."

"What do you mean let it go?" McKay tried to sit up but drugs and broken bones and lingering anesthetic conspired against him, "Carson's a target."

"They don't know it's the Doc. We, Elizabeth, Teyla and Ronon and a few of the others and myself, think the Wraith might believe it's you."

"Oh great," Rodney exclaimed. "Oh that's just fantastic. Me? I don't deal in squishy science….I don't make drugs or biologics…."

"No, you just blow up whole solar systems."

"Five sixths and you were there too."

"Whatever. Point is, Phillips didn't abandon you. I just want to make that clear. Alright?"

Rodney melted back into his bed and directed his gaze toward his blanket, "Yes. But from our perspective…"

"I know, McKay, and I understand. But now you know."

"What are you going to tell Carson?"

Sheppard sighed and cast a quick glance over toward the sleeping physician. "I don't know yet."

"You can't keep it a secret," Rodney added, "Atlantis is too small. He'll hear it one way or another."

"I know."

A heavy silence fell between them. Both men stared at the sleeping physician who lay curled down at the lower half of the bed doing his best to avoid the slight incline.

"He going to be okay?" McKay paused, "I mean he's not going to join the Fruit of the Club Month or be apart of Name that Vegetable, right?" The worried expression and inflection of tone clarified his concern. "Because, I mean back on the planet he was doing a pretty good impersonation of broccoli. He wasn't exactly…"

"All the tests they've run said he's going to be fine," Sheppard interrupted Rodney before he could possibly insult any other groups of people. "But they won't know for sure until he starts responding to them."

* * *

McKay typed one handed on his keyboard while sucking blue Jell-O in and out of his slightly parted lips. His casted leg, which was plain fiberglass off white that ran from toe to groin, rested propped on pillows with a blanket covering his foot. Miscalculated equations had been written on his cast down near his ankle just out of his reach. It drove him to distraction. He kept the foot covered in hopes of outsight out of mind would actually work.

It was failing miserably. He kicked the blanket off again and once again stared at the erroneous equation some joker had written on his cast while he slept. He had his list of suspects and plans for revenge were quickly formulating.

"Ach, the math is wrong," The thick accent and slight distain in the voice had McKay snapping his attention from his leg to his 'roommate'.

"Shut up, Carson, I know," McKay retorted as he pressed the impromptu call button the medical personal had installed near the beds once they got settled onto Atlantis.

"Aye, it's distractin'," Beckett pointed out. He absently rubbed at his head. "You could at least cover it up, man." A hint of whine laced his tone.

McKay looked across Beckett at Biro. She walked purposely toward them with her coat billowing behind her. She quickened her step when she noticed her boss fully awake and engaging in conversation.

"He's awake again and irritating me," McKay stated brusquely.

"The math is wrong, you should fix it." Beckett opinioned, "it's a bit irritating."

"Can you do something about him? Like move him to another part of the infirmary or something?"

Biro shot McKay an impatient glare. She turned her attention to Beckett and let a relieved smile cross her face. Her boss kept showing signs of improvement and she'd be off her rotation of living patients sooner rather than later. "Carson, you're awake."

"Oh, great observation, a first for you I bet," McKay snapped. "Of course he's awake."

"Dr. McKay," Biro warned turning her attention back to the astrophysicist and smiled with a hint of menace, "keep it up and we'll try cutting back on your pain medication sooner rather than later."

"That is so unfair." McKay muttered, "pick on the injured genius….real brave. They teach you that in Medical school?"

"It's wrong," Beckett softly opinioned.

"Of course it is," McKay exclaimed staring at Biro and squinting his eyes in accusation at her poor bedside manner.

"The math," Carson quietly pointed out again.

"I---didn't---do---it," McKay slowly and clearly announced.

"It's on your leg," Beckett observed.

"Oh shut up," Rodney exclaimed, "you've been nothing more than a piece of mumbling asparagus for the last 24 hours and now you have opinions on math?"

"It's wrong," Carson plainly stated.

"He's right, McKay," Sheppard declared as he strode into the area with a relieved smile on his face. "Hey, Doc. How you feeling?"

Biro stood to the side with a building look of exasperation to match Rodney.

"A bit of a headache." Beckett tried to rub at his head again but his hand was intercepted by Biro's. "Looking at Rodney's poor Math isn't helping much either---quite distracting."

"Oh that's it," McKay dragged the blanket further over his foot hiding it completely from sight. "Fly boy here probably did it."

"Sorry, McKay, my math is better than that." Sheppard stopped on the far side of McKay's bed and tried to get a glimpse of the computer screen. "You get that little problem of Kavanagh's figured out?"

"A child could have solved it," McKay sputtered in disgust.

"That a yes, McKay? Or are you still practicing your multiplication tables?"

"Excuse me, gentlemen, but I must examine my patient."

"Ach, go ahead, I'm sure Rodney'll behave," Beckett muttered and gingerly rolled over. He sucked in a breath as sharp pain radiated from his hip up to his shoulder.

"No, he won't, but he's not the one due for a going over," Biro said as she pulled the curtain closed around Beckett's bed.

Sheppard grinned as Carson disappeared from sight.

"You figure anything out?" Rodney asked.

"I figure out a lot of things, McKay," Sheppard shot back purposely misunderstanding what was meant.

"What have you and Elizabeth come up with?"

The two men stared at the closed curtain and listened to the soft murmur of voices as Biro asked questions and Beckett answered. There were a few sharp intakes of pained breath followed by terse but well-meaning apologies.

"The truth."

"Well, that's original."

"You have any suggestions?" the colonel shot back.

"No," Rodney answered just as quietly, "just have Elizabeth do it. You're kind of blunt. Carson doesn't deserve that."

"I am not blunt," Sheppard retorted with indignity.

"Of course not, you're Mr. Sensitivity."

"I can be."

Rodney's grunt of disbelief paused when a nurse entered the area carrying a vial and syringe. She smiled the nurses' typical hybrid sweet but "you better behave or else" smile at the duo, and entered the curtained off area.

The pair quietly watched the curtain.

They both shared furrowed looks of concern. After a moment the curtain was pulled back. The nurse was fixing Carson's pillow and Biro was making notations in his chart.

Carson was lying bonelessly, blinking owl eyed at the movement of her pen.

"Doc?"

Biro looked up from her chart and pushed her glasses further onto the ridge of her nose. Carson simply blinked again, fighting the rolling of his eyes.

"He'll be fine."

"Somehow coming from you isn't terribly reassuring," Rodney stated. He watched Beckett fight a losing battle with keeping his eyes open.

"Not to worry. Dr. McKay, you're next on my list of physicals."

"What's going on?" Sheppard asked as two more nurses came into the area and started wheeling Carson away, IV and all.

"More imaging. The swelling on his side has gone down considerably. Just being thorough." Biro made a few more notes in the chart. She then looked up and noticed the true concern in the other two. "Gentlemen, we are going to have to manipulate his leg and torso. It doesn't need to be painful."

"I thought it was just deep bruising and pinched nerves?" Sheppard questioned.

"Probably is. I just want to be sure."

"I'm well enough to be discharged. You can't keep me here," Rodney declared. If Beckett looked like that after a just a few minutes with Biro and they got along….what chances did he, himself stand?

"Yes I can." Biro almost smiled and McKay felt his heart almost freeze with terror. "When I'm through with your physical, which will be right after we get done with Dr. Beckett, you might be allowed to leave."

"His head's okay?"

"As I have told you before, Dr. McKay," Biro sighed tiredly, "he did not sustain any severe damage to his skull or brain."

"Well, he's not been exactly sharp since we got back."

"Dr. McKay," Biro stared pointedly at the astrophysicist, "he has been responding to his environment appropriately. He has been capable of sustaining conversation and memory. He is capable of accomplishing simple mathematics that seem to be beyond your ability." Biro stared meaningfully at McKay's blanketed leg and then headed for the imaging area.

"I really dislike her."

"I think she feels the same way about you," Sheppard added.

"What are going to tell Carson?"

"That you and Biro shouldn't be left in the same room together."

"Not about that."

"I'm going to let Elizabeth handle it."

"Chicken."

"Delegation," Sheppard answered back, "it's a sign of a true leader."

"When I see Elizabeth, I'll ask her if it's true," McKay muttered.


	4. Chapter 4

Okay fixed this part up a little bit since the keebler cookie/milk/possible tornado incident. Right now, riding the bike of doom. As a result the ending may still be a little rough...but smooth dirt road rough, not like before which was more like pitted, rain washed away road rough. Just nod in understanding and work with me. Thanks all for the reviews. You guys are wicked nice.

**Epilogue **

McKay hobbled into the commissary with the finesse of a penguin on land.

Beckett watched the astrophysicist mangle his way between tables and chairs. McKay muttered, and cursed those 'in his way' as he limped, hopped and banged his way across the room.

From beside Carson, Sheppard cringed and sucked in a sharp breath with each minor collision Rodney initiated. "He's a menace."

"Aye."

The Colonel continued to watch McKay amazed and yet somehow not surprised that Rodney was up moving around. For all his bluster, complaints and indignation, McKay was tough. Sheppard amended his thoughts. Rodney was tough on the inside, tougher than most. He pushed himself harder than he pushed his staff. But on the outside, McKay was no better than an ill tempered over tired four year old with a cold.

Carson held his tongue until McKay dropped his one crutch against their table, which immediately slid to the side and clattered to the floor. McKay ignored it and all the stares focused on him. He collapsed in a controlled fall to the vacant plastic chair.

He glared daggers, across the table, at Sheppard and Beckett.

"Rodney, didn't they teach you how to properly use that crutch?" Carson asked with a hint of tired concern. He did not want to think that his staff were not meeting patients' needs.

"I know how to properly use it," Rodney snapped. "I'm a genius remember."

Beckett nodded in understanding. His staff probably tried their best. Rodney was strong, stronger than he ever gave himself credit for. And Rodney was a genius as he liked to remind everyone.

"You look it," Sheppard stated. "And that word down near your calf is misspelled."

"Shut-up," McKay hissed, "I'm going to find out who's doing it. I bet you it's Zelenka…That little sneaky Czech. Thinks he'll get away with this, does he?"

"It is not the little funny haired one with the nervous energy," Ronon stated.

"How do you know?"

"I know, Little Man." Ronon smiled like hyena circling a wounded lion. It unnerved McKay.

"Rodney, lad, if you are going to write things on your cast you should really make sure of the spelling."

"And math," Sheppard supplied.

"Aye, that, too." Beckett shook his head despondently.

Rodney settled heavily into his seat. "So ahh, Carson, um Elizabeth, um…"

"Aye, Rodney, she told me about the Wraith and Lieutenant Phillips and his team."

McKay shot a worried glance toward the Colonel.

"It's not all right, Rodney," Carson supplied tiredly. "It just seems I'm on a different Most Wanted List."

"Or the same one," Ronon offered.

"Aye."

"Welcome to the team."

Carson quirked a small humorless smile. "Not exactly the type of price I wanted to pay."

"It's not under your control," Sheppard stated.

"The Wraith are evil, Dr. Beckett. They are nothing more than monsters," Teyla clarified. "Whether you are on their list or not, whether Lt. Phillips team was distracting them or not; The Wraith are still Wraith and they will hunt humans and feed on them." The Athosian stared pointedly at Doctor Beckett. "Whether you are the one they seek or not, they will hunt for you---for all of us." She swung her piercing gaze around to encompass the occupants of the room and then stared pointedly back at the CMO. "They will run us down like animals, trap us and preserve us until it is time to feed. It is what they do. It matters not to them if you are on a list. Your purpose is to feed them. You die so they may live."

"It is just the manner in which you will die," Ronon finished with a humorless smirk.

A heavy, dread laden silence hung like a pall over the table.

"Well, that was enlightening," Sheppard broke the brittle silence with forced cheer, "Someone pass the salt." The colonel looked over at the pale visage of the CMO.

There was very little Sheppard could do to ease Carson's burden. The Colonel regarded Beckett for a moment.

The hair was slowly growing back, the staples were scheduled to be removed by the end of the week and he still walked with a painful, shuffling limp. Biro had been right, it was just deep muscle bruising and painfully pinched nerves. The ataxia from the head wound was gradually dissipating. The punishing headaches were slowly lessening with each passing day. It was with less and less frequency that they found him sleeping in his darkened and cooled office or living quarters with a damp cloth around his neck or over his eyes. Carson's infirmary staff protected and watched over their boss like a pride of lions.

The physical wounds were healing. It was the unseen ones, the crush of responsibility that dug internally that would need more time.

The Colonel shared a helpless shrug with McKay. Like himself and Rodney, Carson would just have to get used to the idea that he had the attention of the Wraith.

McKay nudged the base of the salt shaker with the tips of his fingers towards Sheppard. It teetered and scratched its way across the glazed surface.

Rodney didn't mind being on a few lists, especially if they were the kind of lists in little black books that belonged to long legged blondes. He saw no drawbacks to that at all. He wouldn't mind that kind of attention.

Rodney never made any favorable 'chick lists,' back on Earth, probably not even Carter's. McKay released a tragic sigh. Samantha Carter didn't know what she was missing. Her loss.

However, here in the Pegasus Galaxy he was on a few lists. The Genii wanted his brains. No big surprise there, who didn't? The Wraith wanted him---for any number of reasons---probably his brains and his life being the top two---in that order. His life force alone could probably feed a few Wraith.

It was all very flattering in a sick demented way to have a female Wraith target you. However, being desired by a long, red hair, facial slit, green tinged skinned female with a propensity for sucking life from humans, just wasn't what he was looking for in his women.

"McKay pass the damn salt, will you?" Sheppard stretched across the table, dragging his sleeve through Beckett's spaghetti sauce.

"Ach, you bugger." Carson battered the Colonel's arm out of his dinner. Sheppard's hand knocked into Teyla's glass which she righted with effortless grace.

Telya's tolerant, diplomatic smile creased her smooth features. "Dr. McKay is injured you should show more patience, Colonel." The Athosian's soft chastisement was not lost on the others.

"Yeah, injured man here," McKay reaffirmed. "Be careful. I'm lucky to have survived."

Beckett stared at his sleeve creased dinner and pinched the bridge of his nose. He listened to the others banter back and forth about different injuries they had survived. Ronon was winning in his understated way. McKay didn't recognize a losing battle. If Carson kept his eyes closed, he could almost imagine the one upmanship that would spark between his cousins back home. Hopefully Sheppard and the others would avoid the table clearing grappling match that normally accompanied such contests.

McKay regaled them with the horrific tale of his split lip while saving the known universe. Teyla appeared properly concerned. Sheppard looked puzzled and Ronon---Beckett feared---was waiting for the part where an emergency amputation just at the neck would have been necessary to save Rodney's life.

Beckett opened his eyes and watched the growing debate. He ignored the Colonel who tried to pawn off his day old dinner roll instead of give it back to the kitchen staff. The staff didn't embrace returns and certainly didn't like to throw away food. Caron noted Ronon was holding a fork, that was progress. Beckett couldn't understand why Teyla even ate with them. Probably keeping her diplomatic skills honed.

They were close enough to family.

Rodney continued to speak, dazzling his friends with his tales of enormous mental feats while risking life and limb while being completely under appreciated.

McKay watched the others around him as he spoke. Ronon listened and ate, holding his empty fork in one hand while eating with the other hand. Sheppard was trying to quietly appease Beckett with a stale dinner roll. Teyla looked cautiously interested in what Rodney, himself was saying.

Earth and Canada had a lot of things that the Pegasus Galaxy and Atlantis didn't but somehow what they had paled in comparison to their new home.

Nothing was ever easy in the Pegasus Galaxy. However, what they attained seemed worth the struggle.

The end.


End file.
